


A True Friend Is A Compass

by LaughingStones



Series: Collegiate Navigation [2]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Clearly those teachers weren't ever praised appropriately as children, Gen, Humanstuck, I hate that teaching style, I will write dancestuck if I want to, Podfic Available, Rated for Karkat's Language, Tell me when I get it right for heavens sakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 08:42:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3375074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaughingStones/pseuds/LaughingStones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gamzee's taking dance.  Karkat is startled to find he's... not as hopeless at it as described.  Gamzee is equally startled.</p>
<p>You can't get better unless you have an accurate idea of where you're starting from, and sometimes having an unflinchingly honest friend really helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A True Friend Is A Compass

"Hey, bro?  You mind all up and doing a favor for a brother?"  Gamzee's wearing a sheepish expression, which means exactly jack shit.  He'd look sheepish whether he was asking you to hand him a pen or drive him to the store.  You have learned this about your dipshit pet freshman.

"Depends on what it is," you say, eyeing him.

He shuffles his feet a bit, making a face.  "'S just, I gotta practice this dance routine, and bro, dunno what thought I ever had on me about this being a good idea, I mean it's fun and all, but I look like a motherfucking joke, and not the good kind.  And we're all supposed to be at watching in the mirror to see if we're doing it right, but motherfuck, I can't fucking watch that!  So, I just, I mean, you could watch and tell me what I gotta fix, right?"

You sigh.  Sure, you could turn him down, but you have the time, and (you like that relieved, happy look on him) you wouldn't mind seeing what he's learning.  "Fine.  Tell me what you're supposed to be practicing."

His face lights up and he babbles at you about the assignment all the way to the practice rooms.

Once you find a room that isn't being used, he toes off his battered sneakers, pulls off his socks, and strips off his hoodie and the shirt under it until he's just in sweatpants and a t-shirt.  You don't often see him not swimming in cloth, and it's funny how the single layer emphasizes how ridiculously skinny he is, while at the same time making clear that there's substance to him, muscle over those lanky bones.

He waves you over to the side of the room opposite the mirrored wall, so he'll face away from the mirror while he dances.  Grabbing a scrunchie from his pocket, he pulls back his red-gold dreads, which are just long enough for a stubby ponytail. Then he fidgets and hesitates and stalls until you roll your eyes.

"For crying out loud, do you want me to watch this, or die of boredom while you scuff around staring at your toes?  I can leave, or you can man the fuck up and dance!"

Dropping his head, he laughs a little, takes a breath and nods at you.  His face goes still and inward, and then he starts to move.

It's... not what you expect. He's nervous, performing; it's obvious in the way his movements cut short instead of following through all the way. His technique isn't exactly honed, his moves are imprecise, sloppy at times, and he can't split his focus yet, so when he's doing footwork his hands hang midair unattended, and when his arms are moving his legs get stiff and awkward.

But watching, you almost don't care. The raw intensity in his face, his moving body, catches and holds your gaze, and the grace that emerges as he starts to relax into the dance startles you. When he shifts his hips and rolls his shoulders, managing very credible isolations, it distantly occurs to you that if this weren't Gamzee, the clueless freshman you've been looking after all term, you might be getting kind of turned on at this point.

Fortunately, Gamzee is gangling and bony and way too fucking tall for a freshman, and not in any way attractive to you. Although fuck, even only half-trained, if he dances in public like this he's going to get some attention. You'll have to step up your Fuck-right-off-the-freshman game.

He's avoiding looking at you. His eyes are on the floor or the wall behind you or tracking his arms and legs appropriately.

At one point he reaches up over his head, arches backwards, and just keeps going til his palms touch the ground.  He doesn't even hesitate before kicking off, whipping his legs over, and snapping up on his feet again.  When he goes straight into a spin without needing to pause to regain his balance, you sort of want to applaud.

After another minute he finishes. He holds the final pose a minute before looking up, seeming almost startled to find you still watching, like you might have gotten bored and stopped paying attention.

"Holy fuck, Gamzee," is the first thing out of your mouth, and he winces and laughs a little, straightening up.

"Told you I ain't got any kind of skills up on me at this, bro."

"What?  No.  I mean, yes, you - why didn't you fucking tell me you could dance, you - twit!"  You just stop yourself from calling him an idiot.  It's your default term of address for everyone, but it turns out the reason Gamzee doesn't mind is he thinks it's actually true in his case, and you refuse to reinforce that kind of bullshit.  You've tried to explain to him about different kinds of intelligence, verbal and emotional and spacial, and how just because he's hopelessly lost in biology class doesn't mean he's a moron.  He might be starting to believe you, but it's an annoyingly slow process.

"Uh."  He gives you a confused look.  "Because I motherfucking can't?"

Both hands slam over your face in an emphatic facepalm as you growl in exasperation. "If that's not dancing, what the fuck do you think it is?"  He opens his mouth and you cut him off.  "No, don't even say anything.  Okay.  I'm going to use very simple words here, in the hopes that in addition to my rage, that will spontaneously cause you to understand and agree with me.  Gamzee.  You can dance."

"But bro - "  He's actually trying to argue with you, frowning, and you give him a ferocious glare and talk over him.

"Nope!  You wanted my help and you're going to get it. Look, doofus, as an objective observer, this is what I saw.  You've got a great sense of timing, you're ridiculously flexible, which is freaky by the way, your isolations are damn good for a beginner, and your sense of balance is better than a fucking cat's.  I'm not saying you're flawless, or that you don't need a lot more practice, I'm just saying you're a fuckload better than I expected from the way you were talking."

Gamzee stares at you, chewing on his lip.  "What, like... really, bro?"

"Yes, really, you goofball!"  You roll your eyes at him and try to stop waving your arms around. Semaphore does not improve your communication, dammit. "When have I ever told you less than the cold hard truth?"

"Huh."  To your bewilderment, instead of looking pleased, he frowns at his bare, bony feet.

"What, did you want me to tell you that you suck?" you demand.

That pulls a bit of a laugh from him.  "Nah, bro.  'S just, teacher don't seem to get his thought on it that way.  I'm all manner of confusion, now."

"Huh."  You frown.  "Who's your teacher?"

"Tim Slavitt?"

"Oh fuck, no wonder!  Gamzee, Slavitt's one of those assholes who think you shouldn't bother to tell students when they're doing well, only what needs to be fixed.  It's asinine, demoralizing and un-fucking-helpful, but unfortunately it's an existing teaching style.  So no, you can't depend on your moron teacher to tell you if you're good at what you're doing.  You can believe me, though.  I know dance, okay?  At least enough to know what looks good and what doesn't."

“Yeah? So you think… I really look ok, bro?”

“ _Yes_ , asshole! For a novice, you’re really fucking good!”

Slowly, his face brightens again. He stands straighter and stops fiddling with the hem of his T-shirt. “Oh. Well, fuck! Good to up and get the knowledge on me, bro, cuz it was all sorts of motherfucking lacking till now.” He grins at you. “Gonna be relaying at me all that bitchtits wisdom now, help me get my education on for true, fix this motherfucker right up?”

You heave a deep sigh. “Yes, you hapless wreck, since it is clear no one else in this godforsaken institution has a clue how to teach anything, I will do my duty and school you. I will be your faithful slave driver. I will bully you until you stop fucking ignoring your arms every time you have to move your feet!”

“Bitchtits,” says Gamzee happily.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and feedback always appreciated!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A True Friend is a Compass by LaughingStones [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4243023) by [Rhea314 (Rhea)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhea/pseuds/Rhea314)




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